


Farewell Performance

by Phyllomania



Category: Cyborg 009
Genre: Gen, Robot Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phyllomania/pseuds/Phyllomania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>002 and 004 share one final mission after Jet left for the NSA. As always, it involves saving the world. This is a problem when the NSA thought that they could improve on Gilmore's design, leaving Jet at a disadvantage, and when the enemy has weapons specifically made to deal with 00 Cyborgs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Farewell Performance

**Author's Note:**

> Written as though the 2000s series, Cho Ginga Densetsu, and the 2013 movie were in the same universe, and takes place between the series and Re:Cyborg.

Farewell performance

 

Chapter 1

It was 11:30pm. Wearily, Albert Heinrich, aka Cyborg 004, shut off the TV. Nothing was ending in the world, which was a good thing. No Black Ghost; no aliens, be they evil or benevolent; no country-shattering cataclysms. Just the usual unpleasant but never-ending wars in the Middle East and between the Koreas, and some sort of strange but probably-not-alarming comet burning up in the air several miles away. The news had said it wasn't anything to worry about, and Gilmore hadn’t called him. Maybe he’d check it out in the morning. For now, Albert was going to bed. He stood up and stretched out of instinct that hadn't been relevant for decades.

And that was when the doorbell rang, followed by angry pounding. Albert blinked, then realized he should probably answer it. He walked to the door, the angry pounding becoming stronger and angrier as he did. Cautiously, he pulled the door open a crack, shoulder against it as a precautionary measure, and met the gaze of an angry-looking taxi driver. “You know any Americans?”

Albert paused. He knew _two_ American, but why a taxi driver would be knocking on his door in the middle of the night regarding either, he didn’t know. “One or two. Why?”

“Got some drunk, stupid American, doesn’t speak a word of German, in the back of my car, shitfaced drunk. Gave me this address and keeps muttering about how he’s sorry the number four exists or something.”

Albert stiffened at the number, then watched as the back door of the cab was opened from the inside. It was too dark t make out details, but light enough to see as someone tumbled out, dropped to his hands and knees on the pavement and didn't make any move to get up. Albert grabbed his keys and jacket and walked out the door, poised to activate the gun in his hand at the first hint of a trap. The lines of the man’s face became clearer and more recognizable. Jet Link, without a doubt. It also because very apparent that the expression on his face wasn’t one of intoxication, though, but of severe pain. Albert had seen it enough to know the difference. 

Part of Albert wanted to leave the other 00 cyborg there, just because. Because he’d left them, acting like nothing so much as a child over a decision that had been the group's. So it was against his better judgement that he knelt down next to the visibly agonized man, noting with some confusion that Jet was wearing a dress.

“What are you doing here?” And if the words was hissed, and angry, Albert figured he couldn’t be blamed for that. 

Jet didn’t move. Just swallowed a half-dozen times, before finally speaking, the words whispered and broken but intelligible. “Hel…p me, ple…”

The blond shuddered and stopped talking, as though the two and a half words had exhausted him, and the part of Albert that wanted to leave Jet on the sidewalk sputtered fire, one final time. Then extinguished itself because Albert was pretty sure Jet had been trying for please, and there was no way Albert could leave him in that much pain. “Yeah.”

Next to them, the taxi driver cleared his throat. “We came from Cologne. You gonna pay?”

Albert sighed and pulled out his wallet, handing the man sixty euros. “That will cover it?”

The driver counted, then pocketed the money. “About, since he didn’t puke all over the back of my car.”

Albert bit back the urge he had to ask the man if he seriously thought Jet was drunk, when the pain on his face was obvious and the shudders even moreso. But, then, Jet was wearing a dress and unable to stand. Albert supposed that a man whose life experience didn’t allow him to recognize a man in pain as such was probably blessed. “Great. Thanks for dropping him off.”

The driver simply snorted and climbed back into his vehicle, taking off for whatever fare he had next. Albert watched him go before kneeling down next to Jet. “What the hell is going on?”

Jet opened his mouth and tried to speak, frustration mixing with pain as the only sound that came out was a low groan. Albert took pity on him. “”More importantly, can you walk?”

Jet’s response to that came in the form of a half-hearted headshake. Apparently tumbling out of the car had been the most he could manage in his current state. Albert sighed and shook his head. “Leaving you on the sidewalk would be rude. Hope you don’t mind me carrying you.” 

It took some maneuvering, but Albert managed to get Jet off the ground, although it quickly became obvious that the younger man wasn’t going to be able to walk even with help. Albert shifted his weight and finally just lifted Jet off the ground, That did get a reaction, Jet’s back arching and a scream ripping itself out of his throat like it was being pulled from his lungs. Albert winced, and nearly put him down again, but instead started walking towards his house, having no other option to get him inside. If only 001 was here they could get there easily. But he wasn’t and they needed to go inside. It was with no small amount of confusion that he felt parts that obviously weren’t bone sliding against his arms. Last time he knew, Jet was fairly organic from the waist up, but whatever he was feeling definitely wasn’t. As carefully as possible he got Jet inside, another one of those agonized screams tearing itself out of Jet’s throat when he had to shift him to get in the door.

After a brief contemplation, Albert decided the best place for him to put Jet was in his bedroom rather than the couch, and he did so as gently as possible. After hitting the mattress Jet still didn’t seem able to move anything more than his hands, which gripped the bedsheets as tightly as possible, knuckles turning white. Albert leaned down, gently brushing the hair out of Jet’s eyes as he tried to figure out what to do.

“I can give you a neural blocker. The Doc gave it to me in case my old symptoms came back,”’ Albert said quietly, wincing as Jet tensed even further than he already was, eyes as close to fearful as he’d seen from the usually reckless cyborg. Carefully, Albert considered what he needed to say next: “For all the times you trusted me in the past.” 

Jet stared at him for a long time, gaze still uneven and so full of pain that Albert was halfway tempted to give him the block without consent. Instead he waited, his hand clenched into the sheets and feeling ill over the sight of Jet in so much pain. He may have felt betrayed, as they all did, by Jet’s behavior and abandonment, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d shared meals and shed blood – and oil - with the young man before him. It was two minutes before Jet nodded, and only after a spasm sent Jet’s limbs grinding against their sockets so strongly that it was audible. Albert immediately headed towards the bathroom, digging in the back of the cabinets for the medication he’d hoped he’d never need and that he definitely didn’t want anyone else to find.

By the time he returned Jet was practically arching off the bed, whatever it was Albert had felt under the strange dress Jet was wearing pushing him up off the bed; the fuel injectors in his feet fluttering sporadically. 

“C’mon,” Albert muttered as he sat on the edge of the bed, brushing sweat-soaked hair out of Jet’s eyes. “Let’s get you taken care of before you light my house on fire.”

Jet gave him a strange look and turned his head away as Albert prepared the neural blocker. “This goes into your spine,” Albert said. “I’m going to need to roll you onto your side.” 

Together they managed it, Jet biting the pillow and his teeth grinding together anyway as Albert maneuvered him and slid the long needle into the space between Jet’s vertebrae, hoping that the chemicals weren’t specific to him alone. He didn’t think they were. 

The result was almost instantaneous, Jet’s body collapsing onto the sheets and the lines of pain in his face fading. His eyes widened as he realized the blocker also prevented him from moving, but Albert was ready for that, hand resting gently against his forehead, above the location of the block. “You’re safe, Jet. I promise.” 

Jet’s gaze locked with Albert’s for a moment, and then suddenly slid closed. Albert panicked for a moment, himself, before he stopped and realized that Jet had fallen asleep, drained of energy by the seeming hours of pain he’d been in. His breathing was steady, and Albert could see the heavy beat of the other man’s pulse, clues to his state of unconsciousness being sleep and exhaustion, rather than something more dire. That assured, he set about trying to take care of Jet while he was still sleeping and unable to feel. The first order was the ridiculous dress, heavily stained with either blood or one of the many oils and hydraulic fluids that had been injected into Jet when they’d been building him. Albert pulled a pair of scissors from his bedside drawer and began to cut away the fabric, stopping in shock as the body revealed to him wasn’t anything he’d ever seen. Plastic and metals that had never been present in Gilmore’s lab covered every inch of Jet’s body, most of them twisted and a few sparking, obviously trying to seat themselves into slots they no longer fit into.

“What the he…” Albert trailed off as his computer began beeping loudly. He jumped for it, shutting off the sound, not before Jet gave a low groan. He didn’t wake, and Albert breathed a sigh of relief as he answered the page that had triggered the sound.

“004? The computers say you used one of your medications. What’s wrong?”

Albert shook his head, glancing at the syringe on the table. So the doctor had been tracking them. He supposed that was understandable, and even necessary, but he would have liked to have known that such was the case. “Wasn’t me. Jet showed up on my doorstep tonight. I gave it to him.”

Gilmore made a troubled sound. “002. What’s wrong with him.”

Albert paused, looking across the room to wear Jet was passed out on his bed. “I…don’t know. But, Doctor there’s…I’m not sure.”

“Out with it,” Gilmore said, sounding frustrated and almost angry. Albert got the feeling the doctor already knew something he didn’t. 

“He’s badly hurt, but it’s…his mechanics. They’re not what they were. He’s…he’s more machine than…”

“Than…?” Gilmore prompted, and Albert sat heavily in the chair that was thankfully close enough at hand so he didn’t fall.

“Than me.”  
 

Chapter 2

It had taken some convincing, and arguing, but Albert had finally managed to get Gilmore to agree to help Jet. He’d had to take multiple photographs of the unconscious man, from angles and close-ups. Had to hear Gilmore mutter and make angry sounds and use words he didn’t understand but that sounded unpleasant.

“And he hasn’t exploded yet?”

The question wasn’t quite one Albert had been expecting, and he started to shake his head. Then two-and-two slowly came together. Jet, wearing clothes more commonly found on a rural clothesline than a US agent, the direction the cabby had said they’d come from, and the news story about the falling comet. “He…might have.”

“At least he’s still in one piece, if he did. He needs help, 004, and obviously the scientists who tried to change him are idiots.”

“You’ll help him.” Albert didn’t make it a question. He didn’t want to make it a question. The heavy silence from Gilmore made him think it was good he didn’t make it a question. “As a favor to me.”

“You’re cashing in your favors for 002?” Gilmore asked, slightly surprised. Albert looked over to where Jet was in his bed, breathing shallowly and nearly in pieces. 

“If you don’t want to on your own, yes.”

“He doesn’t want our help,” Gilmore said patiently.

“And he’s a stubborn ass, but I don’t think he wants to die, either.” 

Gilmore was quiet. “Alright. Get me get some gear together. Do you think he’ll actually let us work on him.”

Albert looked back over at the young man on his bed. “He showed up on my doorstep for a reason. I’ll try to get him to see level.”

“Level, huh?” the voice, calmer than last night, broke through the conversation and Albert looked over to see Jet awake and watching him suspiciously. “Selling me out already?”

“Getting you help,” Albert said, ignoring the noise that was halfway to derision from Gilbert as Jet stiffened, suddenly trying to get out of bed. 

“Not what I asked for!” Jet said, face drawn with pain as he tried to struggle to his feet, the broken stabilizers at his shoulders and hips catching on the sheets and tangling. He started to thrash as Albert crossed the room.

“Jet, calm down,” Albert said patiently, reaching out one hand to push as gently as possible on the less-broken of the young man’s shoulder.

“Why should I,” Jet growled, pushing back up and trying to squirm out from under Albert’s grip. The older man struggled for something to say that would end this fight, because if Jet was going to come in the first place it…

“Because you were the one that dropped onto my doorstep after saying you didn’t want anything else to do with us. Because you asked for MY help. Now that you have it, you’re rejecting it!” Albert snarled back, finally feeling something close to anger towards the younger man. 

Jet opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Irrational?”

Albert shook his head and stifled the urge to roll his eyes. This kid was going to be the death of him. “Rebellious teenager levels of irrational.”

Jet was at a loss for words, wrestling with himself and everything else. He kind of wanted to run, no matter that he couldn’t. He stared at Albert, torn and still clinging to the mattress, the fabric starting to rip as his grip became tighter and tighter.

“How about this?” Albert said, watching the reaction. “It’s the first time I’ve had someone in my bed since Hilda. It’s going to look bad if you go storming out.”

It worked. Jet fell back against the sheets, flabbergasted. Albert cocked an eyebrow at him and shrugged sheepishly, and Jet started laughing, the fight fading from his body as he did. “You really could have done better than me.”

“Someone less high-maintenance, certainly,” Albert replied dryly, receiving another snort of laughter from Jet, although this one was followed by a gasp of pain. Albert took a deep breath. “Please, Jet. Let us help you with this, and I’ll help you with whatever is going on out there.”

Jet gave him a look. “Even if it goes against your ideals?”

Albert paused for a moment, then shook his head. For all the difference of opinions between Jet and the rest of the cyborgs, Albert was almost sure Jet wasn’t going to have turned into someone that would do something so terrible that he couldn’t follow him. “It won’t.” 

“That’s a lot of faith.”

“I expect some in return.”

Jet watched him for a long time, silently. “I guess I was unconscious in your bed for four hours.”

“And I could have easily left you on the sidewalk.”

“That would have been cruel, 004. Plus, what would have your neighbors thought? Man on a dress curled up on your driveway?” Jet was smirking again. 

“They already think all sorts of strange things about me. I'm the crazy man who doesn’t wear short sleeves ever and refuses to go to the beach,” 

“And who brings crying men in dresses to their knees on his sidewalk,” Jet reiterated. Albert rolled his eyes. 

“And that.”

Silence again, Jet thinking. Albert wondered if he was going to get an answer when Jet sighed and made his decision.

“I don’t want to go into a lab.”

Albert back his first thought and nodded, slowly. “I’m sure we can get something done here.”

Gilmore’s voice sputtered in his ear, protesting, and Albert chose to ignore it. “At least get you back to walking.”

“Gonna need more than that to finish my mission,” Jet said carefully, not revealing anymore, but nodded and cleared his throat. “Assume you’re still listening, Gilmore. That work for ya?”

Albert listened as Gilmore spluttered things in his ear, relaying the information as needed. “5 hours, if Ivan is awake. If he’s not…”

“I get it,” Jet grumbled, and looked over at Albert. “Got any more of the good stuff?”

Albert looked at the self-injection syringe laying on the table and shook his head. He had a feeling the limited supply given to him had been intentional, that, but no need to get into details. He mumbled something to Gilbert, who repeated his vague timeframe and disconnected.

“Sorry. I’ll stay with you.”

Jet raised an eyebrow. “Want to watch me in agony?”

“Don’t want you dying in my bed,” Albert tried, since “I don’t want you to be alone” sounded corny and way too personal for a man who’d deliberately stated that he wanted to be left alone as he stormed out of their lives a year ago. Jet didn’t reply, just stared at the ceiling as the pain level started to increase in his body, the neural pathways awakening again and causing whatever signals in his body to misfire. Albert didn’t push, either, just settled next to the bed, on vigil. For what, he didn’t know.

The meds had completely faded a few hours later, Jet’s vinegar fading in the face of reemerging pain. If the cast of his face and the way his fingernails were ripping into the mattress again were any indication, it was nearly as rough as the night before. At one point he arched up, coming off the bed hard, one of the flaps in his back twisting in ways that it obviously wasn’t supposed to. Sure that Jet was about to break his spine, Albert shoved him back down, feeling resistance from the new tech on the younger man and hoping he wasn’t making anything worse. Jet grabbed at his arm, holding on like it would ground him, and Albert let him.

For several moments, they were frozen there, Albert scared to let Jet move and Jet unable to even try. Then the wave passed, and they both relaxed. Sheepishly, Jet let go of Albert’s wrist as his brain got a handle on the pain. “Sorry.” 

“The inside of my body creates high-pressure explosions,” Albert said with a wry smile. “They learned pretty quickly that pain receptors in my extremities weren’t the best idea.”

Jet winced, remembering the day that they’d all discovered that; the same day he’d discovered 003 and 004. It was hard to forget those screams of pain as Albert writhed on the ground. He’d been sure, at the time, that Albert had been dying. He was more than happy to have been proved wrong. 

“What about you?” Albert asked quietly, his hand still resting on Jet’s shoulder, at the juncture between the synthetic body and Jet’s own skin.

“It hurts,” Jet breathed out, “All the time. Any touch. They wanted to make sure I’d know if anything went wrong.”

Even as he said the words his hand went up to grasp Albert’s hand, when the older man tried to snatch it back. Albert was taken aback, but left his hand where it was. He felt Jet shudder under his hand, and relax slightly when he obliged. He decided to follow the hunch that had been gnawing a hole in his thoughts since Jet arrived.

“It was the NSA that modified you, right?”

“Classified,” Jet said firmly, with all the conviction of a man giving the affirmative answer. 

“I can’t believe you’d let them do all this to you, without ever…” Albert trailed off at the look on Jet’s face. “They did give you the choice?”

Jet looked at him, straight in the face. “They gave me _a_ choice.”

Albert didn’t push. Didn’t want to push. He was fairly certain he’d want to storm the US governmental offices if he knew any more information. He’d already heard and seen more than enough to leave a cold pit in his stomach. They both settled down, Albert vigilant with his hand still resting on Jet’s shoulder, the younger man staring at the wall and doing his best to ignore the pain and the fact that he didn’t want to see Gilmore. The hours ticked by, their positions only shifting when Albert went to get a cold cloth as Jet’s pain started to shift into a fever.

Chapter 3

Gilmore arrived in 7 hours, and by the time he did Jet was barely coherent, with the only thing saving Albert from shattered bones was the fact that his hands didn’t have them, Jet was holding on so tightly.

Gilmore stared for a moment as he took in the scene, then thrust several suitcases at Albert, snapping instructions about what to set up and where. Within an hour Albert’s living room had been transformed into a makeshift operating theatre, all the lights off and extra generators set to take up the enery-slck. Albert lifted Jet as carefully as he could, even the slight movements causing a chorus of agonized sounds to rip themselves from Jet’s chest as he was transferred from Albert’s beds to the glaring lights of the temporary laboratory. 

Jet fell unconscious before Albert even got him there, and Gilmore fixed him with a device to keep him under and went to work with clamps and lubricants and devices that Albert wasn’t sure what they were supposed to do, but some seemed more suited to a mechanic than a doctor.

“Idiots,” Gilmore muttered halfway through. “You’d think they were trying to kill him!” 

“Docter?” Albert asked, quietly, and Gilmore looked up at him suddenly. 

“Oh, I’m sorry 004. This is just typical cowboy stuff. They tried to make him more efficient by wiring all of his controls directly into his nerves.” He pointed to a tool in the corner, a curved hook with a small retractable blade.

“Weren’t they already?” Albert asked quietly, handing Gilmore the indicated tool and wincing when Gilmore used it to stab under one of the shoulder plates in Jet’s new armor, severing several synthetic muscle fibers and connections. The plate fell away in Gilmore’s hands, and he handed it to Albert, repeating the process with the left shoulder. 

Gilmore shook his head and handed the plates to Albert. “Not like this. He had motor control over his flight, obviously. I don’t know how he could have used this system without passing out from agony.”

Albert took the plates, wondering what he was supposed to do with them. They seemed to be made of a lightweight metal, although he wasn’t expert enough to place it, and the one that had been over the left shoulder was badly twisted and distorted. “He said they wanted him to know if anything went wrong.”

“Make the left shoulder match the right, if you can.” Gilmore instructed, then shook his head and peered into the array of mechanical elements he’d uncovered, carefully shifting some, and replacing others. “If that’s the case, it was always wrong.” Gilmore said scornfully. “This was torture for the sake of making him a little faster.”

Albert wasn’t sure what to say to that, for a whole slew of reasons, up to and including the painful memories of his own transformation into a cyborg. So instead he did as Gilmore asked, trying to make the left panel match the right. The materials, whatever they were, proved fairly easy to work with and by the time Gilmore straightened from whatever task he’d been doing in the internals of Jet’s wiring, Albert had them ready. Gilmore looked angry when he realized Albert was finished.

“So they don’t even give him something that can stand up to the abuse,” he growled. “Go into my bag. You’re going to find a carbon-fiber epoxy. I’m going to give you more parts. Cover them all with a thin coat, but be careful not to get any on your hands. Non-moveable parts only for this.”

Gilbert went to work undoing more plates and armor pieces from Jet’s body, until more of Jet was one the floor than on his body, the younger cyborg a mass of wiring and frame, with very little substance. Albert winced and focused on the task he’d been doing. He disliked seeing his fellow cyborgs in such a state. Violated, even willingly, and utterly helpless.

As he covered the many pieces of metal with the coating he didn’t quite understand, he watched Gilmore continue to work. The scientist slammed things into place, then took some out ,and finally cut open the metal casing of 002’s spine to reset some of the wires there. It was 10 hours before the scientist finished his work and replaced the external mechanisms he’d handed to Albert. Gilmore set aside his tools and collapsed onto the couch, streaks of oil and lubricant getting on the cushions. Jet didn’t move, unconscious and possibly unable to do so, and Albert cautiously looked him over at the body so different from the one he’d seen in the medical facilities when they’d been working together - when they’d been a team.

Gilmore rested for a few minutes before standing and turning off one of the instruments he’d placed near Jet’s head, and the young man stirred and began to move. Albert let go of a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding as Jet sat snapping the various flaps in his body open and closed with a look of almost childlike wonder on his face.

Albert pulled Gilmore aside as Jet experimented. The headstrong cyborg was obviously fighting the urge to go outside and jump off the rooftop, and Albert thought he should finish talking with Gilmore before that urge became too strong. “You’ve been keeping an eye on him, right?”

“As much as we need to. He asked to be let go, after all. So we know some things, but there isn’t any prying.” Gilmore whispered back, and if Albert thought that was a noncommittal answer he didn’t say anything. 

“Anything I should know if I’m going to help him out. I may have promised…” Albert said quietly. Gilmore gave him a stern look, although not a surprised one.

“I doubt he’s doing anything particularly shady, if only because he’s 002. He may have thrown a temper-tantrum, but he’s still trying to be one of the good guys,” Gilmore said, then paused. “You…”

“What?” Albert pushed. He’d been doing a lot of pushing recently. He didn’t like it, but when your friend was in deep there weren’t a lot of other options.

“You should know he probably won’t be getting much help. He’s…I doubt he knows it. He's not in the NSA personnel files.”

"He's a spy," Albert said, "don't they want to keep him under deep cover?" 

Gilmore looked troubled. "I wish that were it, 004. Unfortunately, he's listed elsewhere, with the tanks and rockets. The seem to classify him as equipment, not a man." 

And there was that cold rage again, towards the US government, a bit of it at Jet himself, towards Gilmore’s blasé tone, towards himself for not stopping Jet and…and Albert bit it all back because none of it would solve nothing. “So he’ll need me, then. Good to know.”

Chapter 4

Jet was pacing. His 200th repetition across the small living room, various parts of his body snapping, impatience reflected in every step and movement. Gilmore had left quickly enough, after telling Jet that he wasn’t to fly for 12 hours, to give his neural pathways time to “set”, followed by a long lecture about how he hadn’t been able to solve the pain problem, but only lessen it a bit. Jet had started pacing as soon as he was gone, only stopping long enough to tell Albert that it was ridiculous that he should be grounded for so many hours and, briefly, to wolf down a sandwich that Albert brought him. After three hours, though, he suddenly stopped and fixed a stare on the older man.

“Why are you here, 004?”

Albert raised an eyebrow. “I’m curious to see how long it is before you wear my floor down the ground.”

“Not here. _Here_ ,” Jet rolled his eyes. “Not ungrateful. Downright glad. But why come back to Germany?”

Albert paused. That wasn’t the question he’d expected, nor one he ever expected from Jet. And, to be honest, not one he wanted to answer. Not anymore. He fixed Jet with a pointed look and said nothing. Jet’s own expression turned a bit more guarded, but he got the point. 

“Why are _you_ here?” Albert asked to change the subject. Jet stiffened for a moment, then seemed to remember their promise. 

“NSA got some surprising intelligence about a week ago. Someone is using cyborg technology to stage attacks on key information-collection sites and personnel around the world,” Jet revealed the information carefully, trying to avoid anything that should be classified. Albert supposed he should be counted lucky that Jet at least trusted him that much.

“The US and its allies have lost several important…” Jet trailed off, looking guilty. Albert took pity on him. Sort of.

“Spies. They’ve lost important spies.” 

Jet nodded. “Yeah. And they were lost in ways humans and most modern tech couldn’t handle, but that was very reminiscent of some of the tech that the 00 cyborgs have used.”

“So they sent you to investigate.”

“I am kind of their expert on these things,” Jet said with a wry shrug. “I’ve been after these guys for almost three months. I thought I was getting pretty close. _Was_ getting close.”

“What happened?”

Jet gestured to the bits of twisted metal and tangled wiring in the corner and shuddered at the memory of how they’d gotten there. “Seems that their anti-cyborg tech is even better than their ability to murder people.”

“So…”

“Yeah, Gilmore thinks the NSA scientists were idiots, but everything was fine 24 hours ago.”

Albert opened his mouth, and closed it again, biting his tongue. Constant pain wasn’t something he would categorize as fine by any measure imaginable. “They shot you down?”

Jet shook his head in frustration. “Kinda. They shot _me_ and my control went haywire. Took all my concentration to stay in the air.”

“And…?”

“I crashed, hard. Burned up all my clothes and half of my dermis, as you saw. Managed to put the fire out by rolling into a pond right before they got to me. Stayed submerged until they passed. Stole a dress from a clothesline. You know the rest.”

Albert paused, unsure, and filled the silence with “Glad to know you didn’t buy the dress,” just to see if he could get the younger man to smile. It didn’t quite work, although the look on Jet’s face implied he appreciated the effort. 

“So your mission…”

“Get into the facility. Get information and shut it down if necessary.” 

“And they know how to defeat you.” 

Jet did grin then. “Did. Doc said when they shot me they blocked my ability to communicate with myself, right? So this new paint job ya gave me should work wonders.” 

“No fire in the house!” Albert said quickly, before Jet got any ideas. Jet glared at him, and Albert couldn’t decide whether it was because he’d said the words in the first place, or because he’d forbidden flying. “I like my roof.”

“Only because you haven’t seen enough of the sky,” Jet said with a touch of annoyance, neither of them sure who it was directed at. Jet shuddered and shook his head, apology in his eyes.

“So, I said I’d help you,” Albert finally said. “What do you need me to do?”

Jet stared in shock, apparently having not expected Albert to keep his promise. “004…”

“I don’t think you should try to fly in again,” Albert said, and Jet paused a moment longer before he started moving, pulling paper and pen to himself and starting to draw a map, while at the same time reaching over and dragging Albert’s phone over to himself.

“I entered on foot. We can start by going to the hotel in Dusseldorf where I’m staying.”

Albert paused. “Is that safe?”

“I’m about to find out,” Jet said, entering a long, complicated string of numbers into the phone. A phone number, Albert assumed, but not like he’d seen before. Jet spoke rapidly, in a language that was neither English nor German, and that Albert didn’t recognize. 

The phone made a horrible noise, and then someone answered in English, Albert could hear it over the line. 

“Yeah. Activate my laptop remotely,” Jet said, then gestured to Albert and pointing at the map. Dusseldorf, Albert placed it, and its surrounding area. Jet had labeled various things as “hotel” and “enemy base” and obviously Albert was supposed to study it, so he sat back quietly, measuring distances in his head, while Jet continued to converse. 

“Everything stable? Yeah. No.” Jet paused and listened. “Any chance of 3rd-party recovery?” 

Albert bit his tongue again, and watched as Jet’s face turned hard at the answer. “I understand, sir. Not compromised, I don’t think. I’ll be trying to infiltrate again tonight. No…I don’t think they know I’m coming, sir.”

Jet hung up the phone. “My room is undisturbed. To be safe, I think you should go and get my stuff, and we start from a new hotel.”

“Has to be me, huh? No spies in Dusseldorf?”

“Seems not,” Jet said dryly, and Albert wondered if Jet didn’t know what Gilmore had told him. The flatness of Jet’s voice implied otherwise. “We’ll get my things from Dusseldorf and move them from Cologne. It’s closer, I discovered.”

Chapter 5

The hotel change had gone smoothly. Albert had driven to the nearest train station, which they took to Dusseldorf, melding into the crowd for a long while before hailing a cab to Jet’s taxi, just as a precaution. Once there, Jet had waited outside, vigilant and at the ready, while Albert went inside and quietly and efficiently packed up what Jet deemed important, stopping long enough to slip 50 euros to the man at the front desk and ask if anyone had asked about the room, intensely relieved by the negative answer. He slipped out again, and they repeated the transportation measures in reverse, Jet tense right until they checked into a small hotel, off the beaten path by quite a few streets, in Cologne. He relaxed marginally then, and started to pull up schematics and information that he deemed important, sharing pertinent information with Albert.

A few hours later Jet had flown them both to the last main road before the he’d been shot down, then they’d started walking, through the forest. It wasn’t easy, sharp crags and, occasionally scrambling over waterfalls or huge swaths of fallen trees. Whatever was hidden, it wasn’t easy to get to. A few times they crossed small gravel roads, deep tracks and grooves dug into the dirt where the packed road had been unable to hold the weight of heavy trucks. Halfway there one of Jet’s boots was sliced open on a sharp rock and he let out an angry curse. They stopped for a short rest a moment later, Jet examining his feet and trying to determine if the mechanisms had been damaged. They didn’t seem to be, but Jet looked angrily at the terrain in front of them before driving a fist into the ground.

“So much damn easier if I could fly,” he growled. 

Albert watched him for a moment before removing one of his own boots and handing it to the shorter man. Jet stared at him.

“004…”

“We’re on a mission, 002. I’m not the one that can be damaged here. You need to buy me a new pair, though, when we get back.”

Thankfully, Jet didn’t argue, shoving his foot into the boot and standing. It was too big for him, but more functional than a bare foot. He forced himself to his feet and continued walking, in silence now as they got closer to the point he’d been shot down. He checked his map against the landmarks they passed on occasion, and Albert couldn’t help but think this would be simpler if they had 007 with them. Jet cleared his throat a few moments later and pointed up before smashing a fist into an open palm, clearly indicating that this was where he’d been stopped before. Albert nodded and primed the micro-missiles in his hands, ready to fire. Jet’s hand was tight on his weapon, knuckles white. Scared, Albert realized. Jet wasn’t used to being beaten. Not since they’d become a team.

Silently as possible, they crept forward. Finally, they crested a large hill and found themselves facing a dark, looming building, cut into an artificial valley. Jet whistled at the sheer bulk of the place, as it just seemed to eat the surrounding area. _“That’s not ominous at all, is it?”_ he said telepathically. Albert had no choice but to agree.

_“Ready?”_ Jet asked, raising his weapon and taking careful aim at one of the three visible guards. Albert nodded and took aim at the other. Jet fired first, then hit his thrusters and activated his speed, taking him down the hill and disabling the second guard before he had a chance to react, just as Albert shot and dropped his target. As soon as they dropped both cyborgs froze, listening for further movement. When none came, they both let out a sigh of relief. Albert jogged down to join Jet next to the building, and they stared at the door. Jet rifled through the guard’s pockets, finally coming up with a key card. “We’re in, I think.” 

Albert nodded again, looking around curiously. This was all wrong, he couldn’t help but feel. Too easy, no, but the entire thing just reeked of _wrong_ to him. After a long moment he simply nodded, though, sticking close to Jet as the smaller man unlocked the door and slipped inside.

Their eyes didn’t take long to adjust to the inside of the area, and they didn’t like what they saw. A long hallway, lined with doors, all shut and impossible to know what was in them. Albert winced, and then they began moving. Jet opened the first door carefully, and shut it again almost as quickly. “Empty.”

The next room had nothing but beds. They alternated sides, Jet watching Albert’s back and Albert watching Jet’s as they opened doors to find out what was behind them, ready for a fight at a moment’s notice. It was the fifth door, one of Jet’s, when he froze and gestured almost frantically for Albert. Albert crouched beside him, and then looked at Jet, horrified. Because what was one the table was something he’d not expected to see again, only another empty operating room, but the technology. The instruments. Sickeningly familiar. The very tools that had been used to remake their bodies into cyborgs. Jet shook his head, confused, and walked into the room. Quickly, he activated the computer the corner, pouring over what was on the screen, his expression becoming more and more dark as he looked it over. 

Blueprints. Not of buildings but of cyborgs. Mostly ones he’d never seen, but they all looked familiar. Bits and pieces used in all of them. Used in 0010. Used…he shuddered and turned away. Disturbing, but not helpful in and of itself. “We need to find a mainframe computer or paper files.”

Albert nodded, and they continued down. At one point footsteps forced them into a room together, Jet stiff as a board and trying not to even breath, Albert thought, as they stomped past. He looked around the room while they waited. While the other room had held data, this one held parts. Pieces. Including….parts of _them_. Albert bit back a sharp noise as he realized he was seeing not only parts of the more generic cyborgs BG had used to create his army, but also ones that he’d used to create THEM. The leg, in the corner, was unmistakably one of Jet’s old parts. A modified, solid metal chamber, much like a lung, which was a prototype of the organs that allowed 006 to breathe fire. It was like a graveyard of partial cyborgs. Jet actually did make a noise next to him.

“What the hell is going on?” Jet asked, obviously unsettled. Albert shook his head. He didn’t know. But they needed to get information and get out, the sooner the better. Jet took a deep breath and opened the door, eyes darting back and forth down the hallway, empty again. A door stood half-open near theirs, where it had not been before, and voices echoed quietly from it. Jet took a steadying breath and nodded to Albert before activated his superspeed again, darting across the hallway before Albert even began to move, disabling the three people easily. When Albert arrived, he was standing over the men, looking mildly triumphant. “Found the computer lab.”

Albert nodded, then froze as an alarm suddenly sounded, echoing through the hallways and blinding for second. Footsteps started to pound down the hall. Jet froze, then began to move. “Guard the hall, 004. I’ll get this.”

Chapter 6

Albert didn't hesitate, sliding into the hallway in a crouch and aiming a rocket towards the center of the hallway. It rocked the walls where it hit, enough of the ceiling falling to the ground to at least slow down the coming group of men, as they jumped back to avoid being hit. Albert used the time to slide into a doorway, firing around the corner.

“The living gun,” he heard yelled. “You know what to do…”

Albert wasn’t sure what they meant, but after what they’d done to Jet he didn’t take chances, rolling into the hallway and slamming the second rocket into the floor in front of the men. It hit and he heard screams, which he forced himself to ignore. He didn’t want to kill anyone but he wasn’t so sure they didn't want to kill him. Suddenly, Jet was by his side, holding a disk tightly in his hand. “Got what you need?” 

“Hope so,” Jet said grimly, “because I think we’re out of time.” 

He gestured behind them, where a group of….things…had just entered into the hallway. Albert wasn’t sure what they were. Neither was Jet. They were twisted, vaguely man-shaped, and definitely cyborgs, but unsettlingly so. Wires pumped a dark liquid from tanks to their brains, and their eyes were dead and almost seemed to be unseeing. Behind them, more human-looking cyborgs stood, glowing green. Each was moving in synchronicity to one of the twisted creatures, with a second delay. “Out the way we came.”

Albert nodded, and they charged down the hall. This was what they were used to, even if the sickening creatures behind them were more than a little unsettling. 

The men knew what they were fighting against, but they didn’t know each other. Neither Jet nor Albert was going to deny that that was the only reason they’d escaped was because of the years of experience they’d had together. Jet had taken them both to the air as soon as they were out of the building, and they’d fired at him again. Albert twisting and exploding the small projectile – responsible for bringing Jet down the last time, he was sure – in midair. They both crashed to the ground a few moments later, on purpose, and took off running. Slowly the shouts behind them faded, and they stopped, breathing deeply to replenish the organs in their bodies that still required oxygen. Jet stared at the disk in his hand, troubled.

“They had parts in there, 004. Parts of _us_.”

“I know,” Albert replied. “I saw. We need to know what’s on that disk.”

“We can’t go back to your house,” Jet said quietly, “too many people. They might get injured if these people follow us.”

“Agreed. We could always go ask Gil….”

“No!” Jet snapped. “They have data. On all of us. We’ll go back to the hotel and see what we have.”

Albert wasn’t sure if Jet was being reasonable or irrational with his refusal, but didn’t comment. He nodded and they set off again, Jet flying them short distances and them jogging side-by-side for the rest, afraid that a long flight would be more detectable. 

It took them a few hours to reach the hotel, as they ended up having to hitchhike once they’d reached the main road. But they made it, without being followed as best they could tell. They both hovered over the data Jet had found, becoming more disturbed with each file. Schematics of all of them, alongside data on how to defeat them. Weapons that could, they realized, almost simultaneously, disable each of them. One that would combust 005 from the inside out, scramble 007 into a mass of flesh and metal, and…Jet should have exploded, they both realized at the same time, instead of just fallen out of the sky like a sack of flour.

“Looks like the NSA job saved me,” Jet said wryly. Albert gave him a sideways glance. He was glad Jet was alive, but that didn’t forgive the terrible things that had been done to the other man in a manner that had been nothing short of torture for him. He didn’t say anything and focused on the data as Jet pulled up another file, this one actually memos, alluding to not one but two bases of operation. Jet looked at him grimly, then scrolled on.

And a list. Coordinates, he realized after a moment of looking at the numbers. Jet copied one and pulled it up, his face going pale as he searched it on the internet, the another.

The Diet building.

The Kremlin.

The White House.

“They’re going after national capitols,” Jet growled. “Starting tomorrow.”

“And us,” Albert added, “Why?”

“Because we’re good at getting in the way of plans,” Jet said with surety. Albert wasn’t sure that was a good answer, but it was the only one we have. 

“We need help,” he started to say, but Jet cut him off. 

“No. They know how to fight each and every one of us. How to destroy them. We may be doomed, but we can’t risk the others.”

“Should we tell them?”

Jet shook his head again. He looked angry, and ill simultaneously. “I’m sorry even you’re in this, 004. This was my mission. I’m going to send the Gilmore Foundation an email. It will go out in 12 hours if I don’t cancel it.”

“At least you trust us enough for that,” Albert said before he could stop himself. Jet winced, but his gaze was firm when he looked at Albert a few moments later.

“I’m not going to let anyone die based on my orders. I won’t let these jerks win, either. We can take out 2 bases,” Jet said quietly. “I know we can.”

Albert paused, then nodded. “Alright.”

Chapter 7

They headed back out a few hours later, after picking up some supplies and recharging Albert, and renting motorcycles in anticipation of returning to the compound. They both knew what to expect, although that was something close to certain death. They’d brainstormed precautions, but came up with very little. It was going to have to be the element of surprise, then. Which would be hard after their earlier storming of the castle, but it was the best they could do. They did know the look of the weapons that would take them down, and that was important. They’d just have to switch off based on which people had which weapons. Despite his unwillingness to allow the involvement of the other 00 Cyborgs, Jet had ultimately allowed Albert to call and inform GSG-9 of the illegal military activities taking place on German soil, although he’d done so nervously.

“They’re going in after six hours,” Albert said grimly as he hung up the phone.

“Then we have six hours to make sure none of them die,” Jet replied, mounting his bike and kicking on the engine. Albert nodded and climbed onto his own.

They were less than halfway there when the first wave of soldiers attacked them, pouring out of the woods. Instantly, Jet and Albert summed up the risk, Jet heading towards the first pair he saw with the weapon that would destroy Jet, and Albert doing the same for Jet, exploding two of the specialized guns before the solders holding them could even lift them. A moment later an explosion and a cry behind him indicated that Jet was making similar work of his targets. A bullet fired from the woods and Albert hit the ground, the bike skidding off into the gutter, Jet to the air, as the bullet shattered trees behind them into splinters. Albert spun and sent a barrage of bullets towards the feet of the men Jet had been engaging as another giant shockwave slammed across the road, tearing it up. Albert flattened as close to the ground as he could. Jet fired up into the sky, searching, and then went down as fast as he could, holding to a zig-zag pattern towards the gunman. He hit him shoulder first, the gun skittering into the woods as Jet disabled the man and lunged for the weapon, spinning and aiming it back toward where Albert was still fighting, firing straight into the shoulder of one of Albert’s attackers.

“004! Eight O’clock!” Jet yelled as loud as he could, trusting Albert to follow as he fired. Albert raised a hand in thanks before slamming his fist into the chest of a man who tried to get the drop on him. He looked over his shoulder at Jet, eyes going wide. 

_“Up, 002. Now!”_

Jet didn’t question, just shot up. He felt a hand close around his ankle, but it didn’t make full contact before he got high enough, and spun to come down on one of the grotesque cyborgs they’d seen in the compound, gambling and grabbing at the tank on its back and ripping it off. The cyborg creation bellowed in pain as Jet shot to the side, letting Albert release a barrage of bullets into it. And, yet, still it didn’t stop, reaching up a fist to slam it into Jet’s chest. Jet screamed in agony and Albert swore, realizing that Gilmore hadn’t actually taken care of the pain problem fully, and watched in terror as Jet’s body froze from the shock, only for a second but long enough for more of the cyborg duos to converge on him, the weapon that was Jet’s alone trained on him.

“Don’t you dare!” Albert yelled. “002!!!”

Jet’s eyes snapped to Albert’s and he arched over and curled into a ball as the first bullets hit, all of his plating pulled close. He screamed again as they hit…

…and bounced off, exploding next to him. The modification Gilmore had had them do, Albert realized and didn’t stop this time, an entire round of bullets hitting Jet’s attackers in the chest. He breathed a sigh of relief when Jet was in the air again, flying rather erratically but away from the group of enemies about to tear him apart.

Then, behind Albert, a gun fired, and he had a split-second to contemplate that he had nowhere to go before a mass of supercharged titanium and wiring hit him in the chest, and pulled him into the air. Another split second before he realized it was Jet, and that he wasn’t falling.

“Fire, dammit,” Jet growled impatiently, and Albert got his wits about him, arching around and priming the micromissiles left in his hand at the same minute, sending a into the man – no, not man. Mechanical weapon, he realized. New to the battlefield – that had tried to fire on him. It shuddered and fell, and Jet dropped him back onto the ground. 

“We have to gain ground,” Jet said. “Push forward.”

“Agreed,” Albert said. “You scout. Relay locations to me.”

Jet nodded grimly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in the air, but it was their best chance. He rocketed upwards, as far as he could and still remain good visibility, and matched speeds with Albert as the living arsenal began to charge forward, calling enemy positions and terrain locations. A huge river to their right wound between sharp cliffs, making retreat or advance from that angle impossible. They had to go straight through. It didn’t matter what weapons there were. They had to go through or die. 

_“Five to your right, three to your left. A….lot…straight ahead.”_ Jet relayed, twisted to avoid gunfire aimed at him.

“I’ll take the direct approach. You take the ones flanking me,” Albert replied back and charged, then slid, ready to fire a missile as he watched Jet dart downwards towards the right, after the five there. He paused for a brief second, wondering if the younger man would need help, then shook his head and focused on his own battle, and the fact that he was out of major ammunition. Quantity over size, then, and he straightened his arm, feeling the barrels snap into place, and just hammered the people in front of them with a barrage, hearing the clank of metal on metal for a moment, and then the tell-tale cries that meant he’d hit flesh. The light was dim, but he realized what was going on as two people crashed from one hit. 

_”Attack the controllers”_ Albert yelled at Jet. “The big guys will fall too.”

“Thanks,” Jet said, blaster aimed and primed and then shooting, while Jet himself flashing forward at maximum speed, tearing wires out of the smaller men. It didn't take long for the five to fall, and he darted across the road. 

Which was when things went wrong, as a huge creature they’d not seen before lunged out of the ground, and grabbed him even at superspeed. Albert spun to fire, but it was too late. Jet screamed in agony as the creature reached into his body, behind the stabilizers in his shoulders, and just wrenched, the metal of Jet’s body screeching in protest as another cyborg raised their gun to shoot him. Albert didn’t hesitate as Jet went limp, leaping forward with his left hand extended, laser slicing through the arm of the creature holding Jet as he used his momentum to propel him over the huge beast’s head and into the path of the gunman. He heard the bullet glance off of his torso, thankfully, and fall to the wayside. The further man raised his arms, gun pointed at Albert, but Jet crashed into him, rockets spluttering as he tried to focus on flight, only sheer bodyweight and momentum, no style left in his fight as he crushed the cyborg, then snapped his neck. Albert went cold at the brutality, but couldn’t fault it as he turned to face the last man, quickly disabling him now that he was the only one left. 

Seconds later, Albert was at Jet’s side, the American having pulled himself into the ditch, where he lay shivering. “002…”

“Nothing fatal,” Jet got out through gritted teeth, anger over being grounded again and pain both barely being kept in check. “Go. Set the charges. I’m down for the moment.” 

“I can’t just leave….”

“Yes, you can,” Jet cut him off, “because otherwise these bastards destroy everything we’ve ever fought for.”

Albert stood, staring at the looming building in the distance, wondering how many more people stood between him and it. “I’ll be back.”

“You damn well better be,” Jet said, trying for his trademark cocky grin and coming up with little more than a grimace. “I refuse to drag your corpse out.”

Albert nodded, and set forward at a jog. He hated to leave Jet, alone and in pain, but the promise to come back would have to do. 

It seemed obvious quite quickly that whoever had planned the operation hadn’t expected them to get past the first two points, and there were only a few left, quickly dismantled, although not easily. Albert’s mind was two-fold at the moment, the first thought to destroy the building and the second to get back to Jet. Determination for the second drove him forward, cautiously and stealthily as the concentration of enemies increased as he got nearer to the building again. Luckily, he realized, most of them had their attention on the skies rather than the ground, and he forego use of the guns as he moved forward, opting for silent kills. GSG-9 had taught him a few things, even as he trained their soldiers. Feet from the building, he primed his charges. They would destroy it, he knew, if he could get them inside. On the outside, they’d be fairly useless, but in the narrow hallways the explosions would be magnified tenfold, destroying at least enough of the building to slow down whatever the plans were. It was the second building, the manufacturing plant, that would need to be completely destroyed. 

He waited after priming the charges, hoping for an opening. It came a few moments later as the doors slid open, more soldiers pouring out and running into the night. He prayed the wouldn’t reach Jet before he could, as he tossed the charge over the head of the last man, and activated the charge as soon as the door slid closed, then ran, heedless now of people seeing him. There were cries and gunfire immediately, but his primary directive was to get away from the building. 10….9….8….

Albert ducked and rolled as the shots came closer, sliding down a hill and under several trees, then began crawling as fast as he could, using the dead brush for cover. 3….2….

Albert curled into a ball as the huge explosion ripped across the building. Then another. Then another. The bomb had been specially designed, with smaller bombs meant to scatter in an ever-wider pattern. Many would get caught in the falling debris, but some would make it through, blowing up the next section of hallway. Fragments of concrete crashed buy him, signifying success, and men screamed as they were hit by the shrapnel and pieces of concrete. Albert didn’t pause to look, sure that the damage had been done, just got back to his feet and tried to make his way back to Jet before the enemy did. 

He made it, Jet where he left him, shaking from the pain. He looked up at Albert’s approach, hand on his gun, and relaxed visibly when he realized who it was. “I take it from the big boom you were able to make the bomb work?”

“I did. But we need to get out of here,” Albert said, kneeling next to Jet. “There are more soldiers on the way. Human, but they’ve got…”

 

“00 Cyborg extermination equipment.” Jet said grimly. He twisted, confusingly presenting his back to Albert. “I can fly us out of here, if you can…”

There was fear in his voice, Albert recognized, and he simply waited while Jet swallowed. 

“…can put my stabilizer back in place. I could feel the problem, but can’t get enough leverage. You need to push it hard, down and to the right.”

Albert didn’t move for a second. “You’re sure? We could walk. I can help you…”

“Too slow,” Jet said. “And it needs to happen sometime. No time like the present.”

Albert nodded, and moved forward while Jet braced himself on the ground on all fours. 

Albert put one hand, then the other, on the plate and Jet made a sharp sound through the stick. It was obvious where it needed to go, and Albert swallowed hard before leaning his weight down on the plate, hoping it would slide into place without too much more. Jet snarled slightly and shook his head. 

“Harder,” Jet grunted. “you’re not ripping a goddamn bandaid off.”

Albert hesitated a moment longer, then walled his feelings and surged his weight against the broken shoulder. It resisted with a sound of metal screeching against metal. Jet screamed short and high before reaching up a hand and pushing Albert away. 

“Wait,” he panted out, searching the ground for something. Albert stopped, confused for a moment before Jet came up with a stick from one of the destroyed trees, and set it between his teeth. 

“Try now,” Jet said, voice muffled by but understandable, “and put your goddamn weight behind it. This tastes disgusting.”

Albert took a deep breath and changed his angle slightly. Without warning he surged up, following Jet’s instructions, forcing his considerable weight behind the shove. Jet’s body made a sickening noise before finally moving back down, suddenly giving in and sliding almost gently back to where it went. Jet sagged, tears streaming down his face as he spit out the stick, then pushed himself to his feet gingerly. He reached out a hand to Albert.

Albert shook his head, but nodded. He could hear footsteps on the path now, and they weren’t up to another fight. He wrapped one arm around Jet’s waist, used to this after so many years, and Jet went white for a few moments before he activated his rockets, both of them barreling upwards. Cries of rage sounded behind them as he flashed forward. 

They didn’t make it far before Jet’s flight suddenly became erratic, and one look at the man’s face let Albert know that he was still in severe pain. _”Land.”_

Jet shook his head. “ _Can’t. Second base. Reload.”_ Each word was an effort, devoid of grammar in the face of trying to fly through the pain.

”Now.” Albert was firm in his statement. “We can’t fight like this. Rest, then go.”

“ _Time”_

“They need to make final preparations, and with this building damaged…”

Jet didn’t reply, but suddenly they were losing altitude. Albert wasn’t sure if he’d just lost control or agreed as they plummeted, Jet dropping him when they were at a reasonable distance. He rolled as he landed, then watched in horror as Jet just fell until the end, his landing barely more than a crash, and didn’t really move once he was on the ground. 

“What’s still wrong?” Albert asked as he helped Jet to sit up, the other’s face drawn and pale from pain.

“There’s a goddamn bullet in my leg,” Jet replied after a second. “It’s pushing against the fuel lines.”

“Can it be removed?”

“Only if you want to reach in and pull it out,” Jet said, tone of voice indicating he thought Albert wasn’t about to do that. The weapons-based cyborg sat back on his heels for a moment, torn.

“It’ll work?”

“Should,” Jet said. “The line isn’t broken, I don’t think, just crushed.”

“You…don’t mind?”

“Better you than going to ask some random dude in a hospital,” Jet said with a weak laugh. “They tend to be scared of us.”

Albert nodded and braced himself. “What do I need to do?”

Jet took a deep breath, and slowly gave instructions. He triggered the rocket, and it began to splutter weakly as the panels opened up. Carefully, Albert reached in, trying not to jostle wiring as he felt around, Jet moaning and occasionally crying out when he failed. Eventually, he found the bullet, near the center of Jet’s leg. It took some maneuvering to get a good grip, but eventually he did, and the bullet came free. Jet screamed again, hand over his mouth, as fuel suddenly rushed to his foot and sent him sliding against the ground a few feet before he got control of it, cutting off the signal. Albert crawled to where he lay, throwing the bullet into the woods, and pulled the other cyborg into his lap. Jet’s jaw was clenched tightly as Albert brushed away dirt from the side of his face. “ _Ok now?”_

“ _Body yes. Brain no_ ” Jet replied honestly enough. Albert sighed, still unconsciously stroking Jet’s hair.

“Rest. One hour,” Albert said firmly. To his surprise, Jet didn’t argue, just sort of sagged down. Albert leaned back, glad to find a tree there, close enough to be comfortable.

“You know,” Jet remarked, pain and exhaustion in his voice, but tone suddenly much lighter. “First I get into your bed, and now you’ve been inside me. We might need to reconsider the parameters of our relationship.”

Albert snorted. “Stop being stupid and take a nap,” he said, lifting his metal hand to rest gently along Jet’s uninjured shoulder and squeezing gently. The entire team had learned long ago that Jet mostly made bad and inappropriate jokes when he was scared.

Jet leaned into the touch instead of away, as Albert had feared, but didn’t make any more jokes. Indeed, he took the advice to heart as his eyes slid closed. Albert leaned more deeply against the tree, eyes glued on the woods and ears open to the sounds of any pursuit. He focused on the mission ahead of them, ignoring the way Jet’s words rumbled through his head, or the way his hand was still gently stroking the other man’s arm and side.

Chapter 8

Waking up was harder than the escape they’d just managed, and it was 90 minutes before they were both ready to move, leaning heavily on each other as their systems both biological and mechanical tried to catch up with reality, the short rest enough for some but not for all to recover. Jet stumbled on his first step, then regained his balance and seemed more steady than before. He have Albert a weak smile. 

“What’s the plan?” 

Albert paused. “Back to the hotel, see what other information is available on the second site, then go.”

Jet nodded, then took a moment to gain his bearings before suddenly activating his rockets, much steadier now, and took off straight up a couple dozen feet, scanning around him. 

“Clear,” he said, coming back down to earth, “and the road is about 3 miles due east.”

Albert nodded “You up to flying, or are we walking?”

Jet gave him a flat look, and seemed about to say something sarcastic, before thinking better of it. “About equal. Flying is faster, but if they do have people looking for us they’ll be more likely to see us.”

“Stay under the treeline?” 

“Not unless you want to have me clogged with leaves,” Jet said wryly. “It’s amazing what the new gear collects.” 

Albert pushed himself to standing. “Still, I think speed counts. Fly. Take us higher instead of lower.”

Jet looked at him for a moment before nodding, then suddenly Albert felt himself being swept up into a familiar hold, the rockets in Jet’s legs flaring as they compensated for the extra weight, then the ground was being left behind as Jet rocketed straight into the air, nearly as high as the machine that shared his name. Within seconds they were at the road, and they managed to get a ride a moment later, Jet hanging in the back while Albert negotiated in German, excuses for their ragged appearance falling fast and easy until the driver agreed to help them. He continued to make conversation in the front seat while Jet climbed into the back, eyes wary and darting along the shoulder; looking into the sky, and behind them the entire ride back to the city; he behaved exactly the same on the taxi ride to their hotel. 

Both cyborgs were relieved to see their room uncompromised as they stumbled in, Jet immediately going to the computer to cancel his first email to Gilmore and to pull up files while Albert grabbed his wallet and went to the lobby to get them desperately-needed food. By the time he was back Jet had about four windows up on his computer and was desperately scribbling notes over a map on the table. He wordlessly took the sausage that Albert gave him and ripped into it with his teeth as he continued to write, occasionally muttering something to himself. Albert watched without comment, devouring his own food and following along with the notes. It wasn’t hard to follow, although once Jet started making phone calls it became more difficult, with only side being available for him to hear. After about 90 minutes Jet sat back and beckoned Albert forward. 

“Easier access. Bigger walls. They know we’re coming,” Jet summarized, then began to point out details of the compound as he’d been able to find them, offering his ideas. Albert weighed in from time-to-time, and still wished Jet would let him call the others. He understood Jet’s reasoning, but it would be easier to take the place with an army, or the rest of the 009 cyborgs. They would be willing to put their lives on the line, even if Jet wasn’t. He paused, torn, but eventually nodded and offered his advice about the strange fortressed area located just outside of Leipzig. 

Another 90 minutes and they were ready, as much of a plan as they could get. It took another hour for both of them to rearm and manually refuel any systems that were likely to be taxed by their bodies, and they were on their way. This time Albert checked out of the hotel, taking their stuff with them. A taxi to the largest train station in the city had them weaving through crowds to store everything in a coin locker, to be retrieved if they survived, and they stood their looking at each other for a moment. 

“Ready?”

Albert took a deep breath and nodded. They’d decided to take a train to an un-inhabited area, fly most of the way, then take the train again. It was the easiest way to reduce time and limit possibility of detection. 

Dusk was just beginning to fall as they reached the smaller town of Schkeuditz, the closest to where they needed to go. Albert had slept on the first leg, Jet on the second, forcefully overcoming misgivings through sheer need. On the street-corner by the bus station, they both stared at each other for a moment before Jet shook himself, a full-body shiver like a dog shaking off a fight. 

“Let’s go,” Albert said at the sign, and Jet nodded grimly. They didn’t even bother for a taxi, just started walking until there weren’t any people, and then rotated walking with short, low-altitude flights. It didn’t take them long to realize they were entering enemy territory once they were headed towards it. They were more than 10km out when they saw the first telltale signs of security watching them, Jet pointing forward to a camera tucked away among the trees. They both stopped and crouched low. 

“Sure you want to do this?” Jet asked quietly. Albert nodded grimly. 

“They may think you’re out of commission, even dead. We _have_ to use this to our advantage,” Albert said, straightening out his arm, the metal pieces of the micromissile barrels in his elbow clicking smoothly into place. “I’ll take the cameras. They’ll come for me. It will work.” 

Jet took a deep breath. “Very well.”

Albert watched as the flight-able cyborg melted into the underbrush, gun clenched firmly in his hand. “Just be careful, you idiot.”

Albert nodded and headed forward, cautiously, a few feet to get a clear shot to the camera before he took aim and watched it go up in a spread of shards and sparks. Immediately he took to the brush again, creeping forward. Behind him, he could hear an occasional branch break as Jet, crawling on his stomach, crept forwards behind him, but mostly he kept his attention forward, knowing he wouldn’t be hearing the breakage if he didn’t know Jet himself was there. 

They made it another four kilometers before the first people actually engaged them, security officers dressed in dark camouflage, perfect for the environment, and they came silently enough that neither Jet nor Albert heard them coming. Albert snapped a quick mental warning to Jet to stay down before he jumped away from the other man, ducking behind a tree as the group of soldiers bore down upon him as one, the terrifying guns made to destroy the 00 Cyborgs at the ready in half their hands, equally-concerning standard weapons in others. Albert didn’t hesitate, simply sent an entire volley in their direction and counted the amount of thunks he heard hitting the forest floor. He backed up a few feet, then vaulted into the larger tree, then down and low, hearing a bullet whiz by his ear as he hit the ground. Then a gun-muzzle flashed from the bushes, and Albert’as attacker stopped shooting, the forest slowly fading to silence. Albert spared a brief nod in Jet’s direction before they pressed forward again, slightly more quickly, Jet dropping only when there was a camera or personnel coming at them. It would have been better to keep him down, but somehow they both felt better pressing on more quickly.

3 kilometers

2.

They couldn’t actually see the compound until they were within less than a kilometer from it. They’d left a pile of injured behind them, maybe several dead, and neither Albert nor Jet were sure that their ruse was holding. But they’d actually been expecting more resistance, and the reason for its lack became apparently the second they saw the compound. If the first had been foreboding, this one looked genuinely hostile, stained stones and a solid construction that put Albert in mind of the Berlin Wall. From nearly a mile away Albert could count at least 40 troops on the wall, and too many to count in front of the door. Behind him, he heard Jet snort. 

“I think I crawled all this way for nothing,” he said dryly. 

Albert glanced back. “What?”

“You can take the party on the floor. The guys on the wall are in my territory,” Jet said patiently. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Albert said. 

Jet opened his mouth to speak, but whatever words he was about to say were suddenly cut off by the bay of a guard dog. They both looked at each other and pressed back into the shadows. 

“Don’t suppose you have any steak on you?” Jet muttered instead. 

“I’d be more inclined to welcome a scent-masker,” Albert said as he shook his head grimly. The dog barked again, closer and slightly more frantic, and it was obvious it had at least some sort of idea they were around. “Nothing for it, then.”

Jet nodded. “I’ll drop you off at the party and then give you a light show.”

A few seconds later Jet made good on his promise, and Albert found himself facing a number of cyborgs and men he didn’t feel like counting as Jet surged upwards, clicking into high-speed and easily making work of the first 5 snipers. Their screams began to fill the air just as the sounds of shock were fading from the throats of those at the door, and Albert knelt to send a massive missile into their midst. Those who could dove out of the way, and those who had already aimed their weapons could do nothing more than watch as the explosion reached them. Albert felt a sting of regret for the deaths, but the knowledge of what was inside the building, and that any number of the people surrounding him could permanently disable Jet and the rest of his friends, forced him to press on. He advanced, sending volley after volley into the flanks of the group, keeping them off-guard and their attention fixed on _him_ for as long as possible. Gunfire split the air above his head, and a scream that was nothing human, but he refused to look. Above ground was Jet’s territory he could take care of it. 

The group on the ground suddenly changed tactics, their behavior shifting as one and Albert wasn’t sure if it was a telepathic communication or ear buds, but suddenly they were splitting up despite his volleys, ignoring the fallen as the survivors vied for a better position. Albert swore, then backed up and aimed high, into the building, and let a rocket fly. Far less concrete and stone than he would like was torn and fell among the fighters, but it got their attention long enough for him to regroup. Two more fell, and Albert wasn’t sure why until suddenly Jet appeared around the corner. He looked worn out, but intact, and Albert couldn’t shake the feeling that Jet had been checking up on him. He’d ask later. When…

Damn. He’d ask when the doors weren’t opening, giving a glimpse of what they had to go through and, more importantly, admitting another 30 fighters onto the field. Albert didn’t think. He _ran_ to get a good shot off, that would damage the door, even as they opened a hail of weapons fire, both energy weapons and projectile, at him. His elbow opened up and crashed into the stressed mechanism of the door as it began to close. It made an angry noise, and Albert didn’t wait to see if it had worked as he ran the other way, this time actually away. The footsteps followed him, and Albert changed tactics as the thud of the cyborg weapons from the first site drew away from the others. At least 10 of them, if he was counting footfalls right. He drew them away, hoping Jet wouldn’t be overwhelmed by any that stayed behind, and into a hilled area, and put on as much speed as he could, praying he could get to the top before they were out of the area. 

Suddenly the ground gave way beneath his feet and Albert panicked for a moment before he realized Jet had followed him. “Stop stalling. They’ve each got one of those fucking 00-killing weapons.”

Albert nodded, and turned, and lit the hill up, the explosion rocking the area where the controllers stood. Each of the big half-cyborg robots came to a halt, rocking before falling down the hill they’d started climbing. 

Jet set him down, and Albert stared at him for a moment. “How many are left?”

“They haven’t sent any more outside. I think they’re waiting for us to show our faces inside, since you broke their door.”

Albert nodded. “Better not keep them wai….”  
He stopped because Jet suddenly stiffened and shot into a tree, a single soldier falling onto the forest floor, smoking gun still in his hands. And that was also when Albert felt pressure to his leg, and heard a sharp clang of metal against metal. He looked down, tried to jump back as he watched a sharp metal thing actually bite its way through him. He swore, and tried to wrench it out or fire as he remembered what the weapon to work against him was meant to do. Overheat his internals while making it impossible for him to fire. He’d explode from the inside out, his own body turned into a bomb. The people he’d been intending to hit backed away as they realized what was going on. “002, you need to get out of here.”

Jet froze at the words. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” Albert replied quietly, as he felt his leg began to heat up. He winced as he felt a rush of air and then Jet was next to him, but he should have expected it. He tried, again, as he desperately tried to get the rocket in his knee to launch before it exploded inside of him. “GO!”

Instead of going Jet snarled, suddenly grabbing him, and Albert felt the gut-wrenching pull of acceleration against the sudden burst of fear that he was about to die and take Jet with him. A few seconds of that, and then they were going down as quickly as they’d gone up, and he still couldn’t get the missile to launch. He got ready to yell at Jet again, and then suddenly there was a massive burst of cold and wet. They were under water, his body processed through the panic. Then Jet grabbed his leg and YANKED, metal twisting and water was rushing in and everything was cooling down just a little bit, then a lot, and Albert opened his mouth and screamed because he was losing a limb and that hurt even him. Water rushed into his lungs, and his body rejected that too, as Jet pulled him back to land. Then a sharp weight hit him in the back and he was retching into the sand, and he realized Jet had used him as a launching pad in a multi-purpose effort to force the water out of Albert's body and get back into the air.

After that it was only grunts and screams. Albert tried to push himself up, to help, but couldn’t stand and had no idea what he could even do. There were screams from Jet, and Albert dragged himself up the hill. By the time he made it there was only Jet, though, their enemies laying dead around him. The metals of the flyer’s body were twisted and dented again, and he was breathing hard, but the only one standing. He turned his head to look at Albert, who was staring at the open door in shock and back to Jet, trying to figure out what had just happened.

“Don’t you EVER tell me to leave you behind,” Jet snarled at him, anger and fear making the words thick. “You died once, damn you. Never again. Not while I'm around.”

“00….Jet” Albert said, surprised, and then Jet was moving, hauling him to his feet. 

“Shut up. I’m mad at you. We need to blow up the compound, though, and I need your other leg for that. 

Albert nodded and let Jet drag him to his feet and into the air. Jet wasn’t flying well, but it was steady enough to get them the few dozen feet to the empty door, wary for any traps that they were sure were there. Albert ignored the intense feeling of Wrong in his body by focusing on watching for any remaining soldiers, picking off the few he saw as soon as he saw them. He didn’t comment on the way Jet was shaking, from stress or anger or exhaustion he couldn’t tell. Jet paused. “I’m going to go set the charges. The detonators are shot. I’ll need you to light them up.”

Albert nodded. He was pretty sure he had enough ammo left for that, if barely. “Got it.”

Jet paused again. “I’m sure they have more men in there. Five minutes. If I’m not back, aim under the rightmost window. That’s where I’m going to start.”

“002…” Albert paused. “You…have this.”

“I certainly hope so. I don’t want to die,” Jet replied coldly, then he was gone, leaving Albert alone. A minute went by, then another. And then shouts and gunfire started, and Albert could do nothing more than sit and hope and pray that Jet would come back. Three minutes, and the gunfire was still going. That was the good part, at least. As long as they were shooting that meant that Jet was still moving. At four minutes there was sudden silence. Four and a half minutes. Five. Albert clawed at the ground, rolling into a good firing position, shaking slightly. 

He didn’t think he could accept Jet dying here. It didn’t matter that Jet had left them. He wasn’t suppose to _leave_ them. He braced himself to take the shot, though. Aiming carefully and letting one of his last bullets fly, he continued to pray and hope that Jet wasn’t nearby as the building began to blow up, the charges set going up in sequence and the building falling around them. Jet had set them well.  
Albert waited. Jet wasn’t coming back. Which was kind of funny, because he wasn’t getting out. Hopefully the GSG-9 would find him. He really didn’t want to die out here, especially if Jet did. Someone had to tell the others that Jet was dead because he didn’t want them to risk their lives. 

Didn’t want to tell them that Jet succeeded in saving the world, again, but at the price of his own life.

Really didn’t want to have to say that Jet had gone first, this time. He aimed, and took another shot. He didn’t have a choice. The building burned, and Jet didn’t return. And didn’t return..

And then, suddenly, there was a whistle of air, and Albert looked up to see Jet coming in, fast and out of control. Jet didn’t so much land as crash behind him, and Albert only had a second to process what was going on before the blond was on him, pinning him to the ground and shaking him. Jet was speaking so fast it was almost like he was using Joe’s perfect acceleration mode, but Albert caught enough to understand the gist, namely that Jet was calling him an idiot and sounded absolutely terrified. Albert took it for some time, until Jet calmed down a bit, then reached up and placed a hand on the younger man’s chest, pushing him back a few inches. 

“We won.”

Jet stared at him, still angry, then suddenly collapsed against his hand, exhaustion and emotions overtaking him. Then he started laughing, holding onto Albert and shaking. “We won.”

“We should probably go back.”

The look Jet gave him was bland. “I need a nap first.”

“Not a good place to sleep,” Albert shook his head. “We’ll help each other.”

“…yeah,” Jet said as he pushed himself to his feet, levering Albert with him, propping him up. Jet was moving slowly. Their bodies were both in horrible condition, and their minds in worse shape, the few organic parts taxed to the limit. Slowly, they limped down the road, able to use it as they stayed as vigilant as possible for soldiers. A sudden rumble of had Jet pulling them to the side, and when the markings indicated arrival of the GSG he only walked faster.

“We can ask them to…” Albert tried.

“Right. Because they’re going to accept an NSA spy as having purely clean motives, “ Jet said, and Albert was pretty sure he couldn’t argue with that. 

Chapter 8

They stumbled into the one hotel in the area slowly, the man at the front desk staring at them curiously while Albert answered questions automatically, waiting for a key. Jet paused at the public computer terminal longs enough to cancel his email to the rest of the 00 Cyborgs on the way to their room, and then collapsed onto the single bed, Jet all but dropping Albert before falling beside him, their brains unable to keep up with the strain any longer. Jet muttered something, and it took Albert’s brain a moment to catch up.

“…ing to be ok?”

“I only have one leg.”

Jet didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Albert blinked. “You saved me, Jet.” _Which I’m still a bit mad at you about_. 

“You still lost the leg.”

Albert sighed. There wasn’t anything to say to that. Jet was obviously trying to make him angry, and he wasn’t up for that. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Jet grunted, and paused before pushing himself up against Albert suddenly, making them both stiffen. “I…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Albert said wearily. And it didn’t. If Jet was trying to cling to him or just didn’t want to fall of the bed the important thing was that they get rest. 

They awoke the next morning, Jet still glued to Albert’s back, although he was the first to stand up – mostly because Albert couldn’t. He gathered up his things, getting ready to leave, although it took Albert a moment to realize what was going on. “You’re leaving just like that.”

Jet stopped packing, smiling sadly in the general direction of his bag. “I was planning on saying thanks as I walked out the door.”

“Jet…” Albert struggled to sit up, wanting to stand. To physically stop the other man. Jet gave him a look.

“If Gilmore could remake me without even knowing what work I’d had done, I’m sure he has spare parts for you. I mean, you’re still part of the team.”

“You could be too,” Albert insisted. 

“Not really. I made my choice, it is my place to stand,” Jet replied firmly, with a resigned conviction that made Albert wince. Jet said nothing else, just hefted his bag and headed towards the door.

“Jet!” Albert called out suddenly, unwilling to let it go like this. “I came back to Germany because it was the only place I could think of. We were trying to escape the area, not the country.”

Jet blinked at him for a moment, without comprehension, until his brain snapped on. He nodded slowly. “I get it.”

There wasn’t anything else to say after that. Jet hefted the small pack over one shoulder and walked into the back yard. Albert watched him go. Wondered if he should stop him and knowing he couldn’t. Jet looked back at him and grinned. “Catch you around, 004.”

End.


End file.
